


To Build a Home

by poetsandzombies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Getting Together, Grinding, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 13:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19947244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetsandzombies/pseuds/poetsandzombies
Summary: Sirius could not count on two hands the number of times he'd helped Remus move since 1978 or the number of times he thought about kissing him.





	To Build a Home

**Author's Note:**

> I lost the porn in favor of plot, and then I lost the plot in favor of porn. Bone apple teeth or whatever.

The living conditions for werewolves during the 1980s varied depending on what corner of the world you found yourself in, the time of day it was, and what color shoes you happened to be wearing. For Remus, shuffling along the outskirts of London, who spent most of his time crunched up out of sight, but tended to choose—if there was any choice at all—brown semi-brogues on the days he did go out, this consisted of quiet spaces in muggle neighborhoods where people neither knew who he was or were particularly interested. 

Remus spent more time moving around these small neighborhoods than he did actually living in them, but Sirius could always count on his room looking the same as it had since he was fourteen; a shelf of dusty books by the door, a couple of posters, and a tiny desk in the corner. 

There were also the tattered remains of a newspaper clipping hanging above the right side of his bed from 1977; a picture capturing the arrest of three death eaters. The event itself held little significance to Remus, Sirius knew. It was the date—March 27th,1977—that mattered. Hooked somewhere between the afternoon of those arrests and the midnight that led to other times and places unremembered, the boys had celebrated James’ 17th birthday; a quiet affair spent on just outside the castle—no tricks up their sleeve, only a collection of memories and a couple bottles of firewhiskey. 

Sirius ran a thumb along the worn edges of the photo and smiled, thinking of his friends.

“If you’re done invading my privacy, then,” a voice came from around the corner. Sirius tore his gaze from the photo to where Remus was leaning against the frame in the doorway, arms crossed. He hesitated, taking a moment to appreciate how the series of knotted scars looked  under  jeans and a t-shirt; there weren’t a lot of places Remus Lupin looked comfortable, but when he did, it made Sirius restless. 

“What’s privacy between us?” He waved a hand dismissively, but remembered the times he would ask, then beg, then  _ demand  _ that Remus just move in with him, and Remus would throw his hands up in a sort of fit and suddenly care about his privacy and personal space. 

“We don’t have to know everything about each other, you know,” Remus said, still smiling, but there was worry behind his lips. Maybe there wouldn’t be if Sirius could stop thinking about them. He turned, looking for anything else to hold his attention.

“Remus,” he said after a moment. “How long have we been friends?”

Remus let out a deep breath and thought.

“Nine...ten? Yeah, wow. Ten years,” he said. He met Sirius’ eyes with angled caution and Sirius agreed that they didn’t have to know  _ everything  _ about each other. But he couldn’t get away from the fact that ten years had passed, and he knew the way Remus liked to sit when he studied versus when he ate, and he knew he only had two pairs of shoes to his name, but there were still things he wanted to learn.

Like the way his lips might feel on Sirius’ neck. Or how he might sound saying Sirius’ name if their bodies were positioned a little more... _ well _ ...

It was a lot to ask of him. Or maybe he was too busy being chased through London by the thing with claws and teeth  biting  at his heels to even notice Sirius’ merciless pining. 

“What’s on your mind?” Remus ’ question broke through  Sirius’ train of thought and he snapped back into focus, alarmed to realize that he had undressed Remus nearly entirely in his head before being reminded he wasn’t alone. 

“You,” he said, honestly. Remus raised a curious eyebrow and Sirius thought of the muggles he had almost  disapparated in front of this morning and how this was the 3rd time he’d helped Remus move that year. It was that sort of exhaustion then, and the pins and needles in his legs, that made him say what he did next. “Do you ever think about us?” 

He watched, in  agonized slow motion,  Remus’ face whiten as though he’d just uttered words Remus had been dreading his entire life. 

“You know that I have , ”  he said, the words slow and  reluctant . 

Like  ribbon , their carefully constructed conversation came apart, but the thing about knowing each other for ten years was that they didn't always need to talk about the deep seeded worry that burdened Remus, or Sirius' insistence that Remus was the one good thing he knew, or have a back and forth about it. All that needed to happen here was for Sirius to ignore the way Remus was looking at him like there were claws dragging him away just long enough to tilt his head to the right and say something like

"You’re an impossible man, Remus, but don’t run away from this too.” 

Remus stumbled forward as though the claws had let him go  and when he gave himself to Sirius, it was with a frantic hum beneath the tenderness in his fingers as he caressed the curve of Sirius’ jaw, bent forward, and kissed him. 

“Woah,” Sirius breathed against his lips. He craned his head back and opened his mouth to let Remus in, and Remus held his head in both of his hands and all but devoured him.

It was the accumulation of all the little moments that made two people fall in love, the fumbling fingers and gentle guidance towards the bed. Sirius kissed Remus with the ferocity of desire, untethered to the etiquette of first kisses, knowing nothing but how good it felt to finally have this and wanting nothing more than to communicate that to Remus. And Remus seemed to be getting it, giving in a little more with each passing minute. He bit down gently on  Sirius’ lower lip.

“ _ Woah _ ,” Sirius said again, pitched a little higher, breaking away from  Remus’ mouth and into an involuntary moan. He held on to Remus a little tighter to keep his balance, alarmed at the way teeth on his skin made him hard. Remus took the moment to nudge him gently back onto the bed. There was a second’s worth of quiet Sirius spent untouched and staring at the ceiling before Remus crawled over him, grabbing his thighs and pulling them up on each side of Remus’ hips. 

“Hi,” Sirius said quietly when he saw his face again, nervous by the amount of time that had passed since he last heard Remus speak.

“Hi,” Remus responded, and they smiled at each other. “Is this okay?”

Sirius wanted to go on about the definition of okay, the degree to which it fit into this context, and how he actually felt. But he’d lost the poetry; it was scattered, uncontrolled, in every nerve of his body. All he could do was slide a hand into  Remus’ hair and nod.

“Yeah,” he said. “Uh. Maybe we should have taken our pants off  first ?”

Remus looked down at the space between their bodies, dropped his head into the crook of Sirius’ neck, and laughed. He pulled himself off of Sirius and Sirius watched with interest as Remus yanked his shirt over his head, revealing soft skin over lean muscle and a litany of scars across his stomach and chest that Sirius itched to touch. His hands started to reach for his pants, but Sirius stopped him.

“Actually, can I...?” He asked, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He reached out and tugged at the waistband of  Remus’ jeans. As his fingers worked on unbuttoning them, he leaned forward and kissed one of the scars on  Remus’ chest. Remus  sucked  in a soft breath and Sirius kissed another, close to his nipple. He kissed all along up his chest until Remus was kicking his pants and boxers off and helping Sirius out of his own clothes, making desperate and sloppy attempts at kissing him as until  finally they were both undressed and Remus could fit himself between Sirius’ legs once more. 

It scared Sirius, how much it didn’t scare him to be beneath Remus—to lend over what in Sirius’ mind was any sense of control at all. With anyone else, he would never, would not dream of it. But here, with him, the balance of their shared affection and the give and take that powered it was the only thing that made sense. It was a strange, uncalculated sort of movement, but their bodies happened to slot against each other perfectly, giving way to just the right kind of friction when Remus rolled his hips into Sirius’.

Sirius pulled Remus down into another shaky kiss as they rocked against each other, holding onto stuttering moans just to keep Remus’ mouth on him a little longer. But the pleasure pooling in his gut was becoming too much as their movements sped up and even Remus was breaking away to let out gasping breaths.

“Remus, I... I’m close,” Sirius managed to say, pressing his head back into the mattress and letting out a loud, undignified moan. Remus responded by pressing bruising fingers into Sirius’ thighs and grinding his hips down harder, a move that Sirius made think, on the razor-sharp edge of an orgasm, Remus would pay for later. And then he dipped low, burying his face in Sirius’ neck, and bit down on his shoulder. Sirius came immediately, with hard and dizzying relief. Remus followed not too much later, kissing Sirius delicately afterwards and settling down next to him. 

As they laid there, a mess of sweat and come between them, as Remus laced their fingers together and kissed each knuckle, Sirius looked at every detail of the room—the books, the desk, the newspaper clipping—and imagined how it might look in his apartment. 


End file.
